


Who Wants to Live Forever?

by genevievedarcygranger



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Based on a Queen Song, Beaches, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical Reinterpretation, Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Conversations, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Day At The Beach, Demons, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Fallen Angels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Good Demons, Guardian Angels, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Male Friendship, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Short One Shot, Slow Romance, Song Lyrics, Song: Who Wants to Live Forever (Queen), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Walks On The Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale watch Warlock and wonder if their plan to thwart the Apocalypse will succeed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Who Wants to Live Forever?

_"Who dares to love forever,_

_Oh, when love must die?_

_But touch my tears with your lips,_

_Touch my world with your fingertips,_

_And we can have forever,_

_And we can love forever,_

_Forever is our today."_

\- "Who Wants to Live Forever," _Queen._

* * *

The Dowling's, being Americans, did not often take vacations to the beach with their only son Warlock. They thought that British beaches were inferior compared to the American beaches along the east and west coasts, which were hot and sandy. California and Hawaiian beaches offered surfing. The shores along the Gulf of Mexico usually didn't have any problems with seaweed, though there were the occasional hurricane or two. The beaches further up the east coast closer to Maine were pleasantly balmy, less chance of a sun burn. But British beaches were cold to the Dowling's, so they preferred to spend their summers somewhere else in Europe, usually on what Mr. Dowling called business trips as an Ambassador. Mrs. Dowling would tag along for the chance to socialize and sip various alcoholic drinks and ask for pretty things in exchange for her husband's lacking attention. That left young Warlock in the care of his nanny.

Nanny Ashtoreth, being not American, didn't mind British beaches. She took Warlock every summer since he could walk on his own to the modest cottage on the beach the Dowling's owned but never frequented. Strangely enough, she was also always accompanied by the gardener, Brother Francis. But since the Dowling's were never there or at their own home, they never noticed. And young Warlock Dowling only assumed that it was normal to have Brother Francis along as well, even if there were no plants to garden up and down the sandy coastline.

It was the summer that Warlock was nine-years-old and fiercely independent in his play time that Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis took a walk along the beach out of Warlock's earshot. They, of course, kept close enough that they could keep an eye on him as he crafted his intricate sandcastles with moats and seashells for decorations. It seemed there was some kind of miracle at work that kept away anyone who might stumble upon the child, or the nanny and gardener.

With their privacy, Nanny Ashtoreth slipped back into Crowley and Brother Francis slipped back into Aziraphale, and the nanny and the gardener were demon and angel once more. "Warlock is such a good boy," Aziraphale remarked with no small amount of fondness.

"Well, I wouldn't say he's all good," Crowley argued, still watching Warlock like a hawk behind his dark lensed glasses. "He can be such a brat at times. He's got a killer sweet tooth. I'd hate to see his dentist bills."

"His father is an ambassador, dear," Aziraphale reminded him, "I'm sure the bill is nothing. Besides, there's nothing wrong with liking sweets, and he's only just a boy. The point is that he be as normal as possible. Children are good, but they are also bratty."

Crowley sniffed haughtily and dropped his hands to his hands. With a minor miracle, the chipped black fingernail polish was good as new again. "I suppose you're right, angel. I know that is what we planned originally but I'm still just…"

Aziraphale frowned when Crowley didn't finish. "Just what, dear?" He looked over at Crowley, and even though his golden eyes were always hidden behind his shades, Aziraphale could see right through him. "You didn't think this would work? Our combined influences canceling each other out over him?"

Rolling his eyes, Crowley pointed out, "Well, he is the Antichrist. I thought that some of his nature would override the nurture is all, angel."

Looking around needlessly to see if they were overheard, Aziraphale muttered quietly, "Yes, well, if you've paid attention to what we've done over these centuries together, you see that the world is not entirely corrupted nor good."

"You're right, angel," Crowley drawled. "Earth is no Eden anymore, but it's a right spot better than Hell. Could always be worse."

"And I can tell that humanity also strives to be better, but they are still only human, Crowley."

The demon and the angel were quiet for a moment. The only sound was the surf and the wind with Warlock's quiet talking carried along it. He was pretending that this was King Arthur's castle, assaulted by the armies of Morgan le Fey instead of just the rising tide. The salt in the air cleared their sinuses. The sun was thankfully tucked away behind the clouds, which meant Crowley and Aziraphale weren't too hot in their layers of skirts, shawls, and jackets.

"Do you think," Aziraphale spoke up in that small voice of his, no higher than the rustle of a feather on the wing of a dove, "if we manage to thwart the apocalypse, then maybe we will still be able to stay with the boy?"

Amused, Crowley teased, "Leave it to the angel to care for the Antichrist." But then he pressed his lips together, clearly considering the question. "But I've grown fond of Warlock, too. I'd at least like to stick around with him for a bit longer, until he's shipped off to America or University, whichever comes first. His parents are never around, you know, so it's only… well, he shouldn't be left alone. We've put this much work into him so far anyway."

Smiling to himself, Aziraphale finished what Crowley could not bring himself to say, "Yes, I agree, dear. It's only right that we finish this out for his sake. We're his guardian angels."

"Guardian demon," Crowley corrected, a sour note in his tone.

"That too," Aziraphale compromised. Then he hummed, "You've done so well as his nanny, Crowley. I can't help but wonder if you've perhaps done this before?"

"Definitely not. I just did my research." At Aziraphale's questioning look, Crowley clarified, "Watched a movie."

"Ah. _Sound of Music_?"

"No, _Mary Poppins_ , actually."

"Really? Well, I haven't heard any singing."

"You haven't been there at bedtime then for Warlock's lullabies, angel." Crowley huffed, "I'd say you've done a fair job as the gardener, but I know you're cheating with your miracles."

Unoffended, Aziraphale still defended himself, "You're the one with the green thumb, Crowley. I wanted to try to get a job in the kitchens, but there were no openings."

This time, Crowley only snorted. "If you'd been the Dowling's chef, you'd been fired the first week for eating more than cooking. You've no skill in the kitchen."

Nose in the air, Aziraphale haughtily claimed, "It is to my understanding that cooking is an art, a talent one has to possess and hone. I'd rather just be the patron to the chef artisans. Let humanity have their fun."

"Whatever you say, angel."

Again, they both fell quiet. The whole time their watched Warlock at work. The wind had tousled his hair, which he had taken to growing out, only getting a haircut when his father would come home and lay eyes on him and demand he have one. Despite the wind, though, no sand had gotten in his eyes thanks to the miracle that Crowley had whispered to himself. He was an industrious boy, and the longer the angel and the demon watched him, the more that they thought they could see the resemblance to the boy that both knew so long ago when the world was still relatively young.

"You asked me if I had any experience with children, and I told you no." Crowley shifted from foot to foot. They didn't often talk about Biblical times mostly because those were the hardest and they weren't really friends yet. That was when the Almighty was cruelest, the toughest with Her motherly love. "But I did tell you that I once showed Jesus all the world." Crowley ignored Aziraphale's surprised look, still staring hard at Warlock. "I knew Jesus when he was a boy, before he was told that he was God's son. Warlock reminds me of him in a way. It's funny."

Aziraphale fiddled the golden ring on his pinkie finger. "I know what you mean. I was the one who told Jesus that he was God's son. It was our first meeting. I felt so bad about it."

"I recall that he rebelled a bit from that responsibility for a while, didn't he? Those teenage years," Crowley mused, "my influence, of course. But the more of the world I showed him, the more he wanted to help people. Total strangers who wouldn't even take a second glance at him."

"His heart was always full of love," Aziraphale said sagely, but then dropped any form of pretentiousness immediately, feeling silly. "I think that…it was his family that really influenced Jesus the most. How else could he have loved them so much to die for them if he hadn't lived among them?"

Thoughtfully, Crowley walked a tight circle around Aziraphale where stood, like a crow around carrion. He watched his footprints stamp themselves in the sand, remembering Lot's wife. He had whispered in her ear to look back. He hadn't known what would have happened. "Do you think we're doing the wrong thing then? Robbing Warlock of a chance at normalcy but taking up these posts in his lives with our biasedness?"

"You think humans could have done a better job, you mean?" Aziraphale gestured his hands at Warlock, playing by himself. "His human parents aren't even here for him. No, I don't regret the time we've spent with him."

So as to be heard over the roar of the strengthening wind, Crowley dipped his mouth close to Aziraphale's ear. "Even if it's all for nothing at The End?"

Crowley thought that Aziraphale would just bring up that damn Ineffable Plan again, start sputtering excuses about the Almighty working in mysterious, incomprehendible, stupid ways. But instead the angel surprised him, just as he had all those years ago in Eden. "If the world's ends, then I'll be glad to know that we gave this boy love for all of his life, even if his choices led to the Apocalypse."

There was nothing that could be said to that. So, the angel and the demon stood there, watching Warlock play. They stood there for so long that they watch Warlock grow bored of building sandcastles and instead he stood and started dancing along the shore. He was playing another game, one where he avoided the water lapping at his toes. The rising tide had knocked over his sandcastles by now, and the sun had yet to make a reappearance. Crowley noted a gathering darkness along the horizon, a promise of a late summer storm and hopefully no other bad omen as that.

"We better get back to the cottage, angel."

"Yes, dear. It's quite past Warlock's lunch time."

"Always thinking with your stomach," Crowley chuckled, and then slipped back into being Nanny Ashtoreth. He waited until Aziraphale was back as Brother Francis before starting towards the boy. "Warlock! Come now, we're going to the cottage!" He called.

Flipping his hair out of his eyes, the boy that should be the Antichrist looked at him with the same innocuous eyes as Jesus once held when he played with the other children his eyes. "Yes, Nanny! Yes, Brother Francis!" He scampered up to them, breathless, miraculously unscathed from all his time playing in the elements except for the sands in his shoes and the knots in his hair. Still young enough that he wasn't so independent to refuse affection, he took one of Nanny's hands and one of Brother Francis's, walking between them as they started making their way back to the cottage. "Swing me?" He asked.

The nanny and the gardener obliged him, lifting him so high he kicked his legs and thought he could fly. Little did any of them know was that he was not the Antichrist, but just a boy who had parents that were an angel and a demon. If he was the Antichrist, he might have been able to see how Crowley's black wing brushed against Aziraphale's white one, both of their wings protectively bent over his dark-haired head. But he didn't see that at all. He only saw two people who loved him very much, just as much as they loved each other, though they would never say it. Not for another decade, when the Apocalypse was pushed back indefinitely for a world that would continue to spin forever.


End file.
